


Missing You

by imagineteamfreewill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Break Up, Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Established Dean Winchester/Reader, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineteamfreewill/pseuds/imagineteamfreewill
Summary: Three months ago, you and Dean Winchester broke up. This is inspired by the song "Unlove You" by Anthem Lights.





	Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr account of the same name on November 10th, 2014 and was edited on April 22nd, 2017.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean! I just can’t!” you shouted, turning your back on the fiery green eyes staring back at you. You started to head back to your bedroom, anger burning inside of you.

“What do you mean  _you_  can’t do this anymore?  _I_  can’t do this anymore!” Dean yelled back, grabbing your shoulder and whipping you around. His face was only inches from yours. Before, you would’ve gotten lost in those eyes. Now you loathed the sight of them.

“All you ever do is drink, Dean! Drink and flirt and leave me behind! You’re worse than John ever was.” Your spiteful words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, laced with both truth and lies, and you relished it when Dean jerked backward. You could see he was hurt by your words, but you didn’t care.

Pushing past him, you said, “I’m done. Goodbye, Dean. I hope you have a great life.” You could feel Dean staring at you as you left, but you didn’t bother to look back. You simply grabbed your jacket off your chair in the library and walked out the door.

* * *

It had been three months since you had left the Winchester brothers, and you had set up a neat little life for yourself. After you’d first walked out, you’d walked to the main road outside the bunker and hitchhiked as far as people would take you. Somehow, you’d ended up in a small town in Vermont, where you got a motel room for a week. You bought yourself a car—the fact that you bought it legally made it all the more exciting—and you started work at a small, local grocery store. Soon after, you’d begun renting a tiny apartment. It wasn’t much, but you were comfortable and safe.

Since then, you’d nearly emptied out the money in the account your father had left you when he died, and even though you knew of many ways to get more—credit card fraud, gambling, and scamming—you’d given up that life forever. “No more hunting,” you had told yourself. “No more bars, no more scams, no more monsters. No more Winchesters.”

Now, you walked in the door of your apartment, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag on the floor in the process. You grabbed your half-finished glass of water off the counter and walked into your bedroom to change out of your work uniform, humming under your breath. Tearing off your cardigan, you were just about to start undressing when you were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. As much as you had convinced yourself that you were done with the hunting and fighting, you still carried a knife in the waistband of your jeans, and now you grabbed it, whirling around and pointing it at the source of the noise. A tall man in a gray shirt and jeans was standing by your window. He was turned away from you, as if he was trying to give you your privacy, but you could see the outline of his short hair and strong jawline silhouetted in the light from the parking lot outside.

“Who are you and how did you get in my apartment?” you asked, your tone low and threatening. It had been so long that you used that voice it surprised you, but you didn’t take the time to think about how easy you switched into hunting mode. When the man didn’t move, you edged closer and gripped your knife tighter, repeating yourself. Slowly, he turned around with his hands in the air. You gasped and dropped the knife. You’d know those eyes anywhere.

“D— Dean?”

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured. For a split-second you almost leaped into his arms, you were so happy to see him. Then, you remembered the reasons you had left, and you went from happy to furious. Bending down, you carefully picked your knife up from the carpet, all the while watching the older Winchester.

Backing away a few steps, you asked, “What are you doing here?” His eyes remained soft, yet you could tell he was struggling to stay composed.

“I need to talk to you,” Dean pleaded. He reached for your arm, and you jerked it away. “Can you please put the knife down, Y/N? I promise I didn’t bring any weapons in with me. I left them all in the Impala.” You felt like smacking your forehead. Of course he came in the Impala. You should’ve noticed it in the parking lot on your way in, but you had grown so oblivious to your surroundings in these past few months that you hadn’t even thought to look around.

“Fine,” you snapped, putting your knife down on the nearby dresser. It was still within reach, and you had other knives and even a gun in various places around the bedroom. You were well-protected in your little home, and that little bit of security relaxed you. “Where’s Sam?”

“I left him to do my own thing soon after you left,” he replied, anxiously running his fingers through his hair. “It was inevitable, I suppose. Sammy’s probably been looking for ways to get away from me for years.” Dean chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. You felt a pang in your chest. If the Winchesters had separated soon after you left… You couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. The way Dean was looking at you was as if you were his last hope, and it took all your willpower not to hug him.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re in my bedroom.” You kept your tone hard, hoping he would get the hint. You really didn’t want to talk, especially if all it would do was make you guilty about leaving him. Dean sighed and walked to your bed. He sat down on the white bedspread, his face in his hands.

“Look, Y/N. What we had was—” he paused, searching for the right word, “great. It was  _fantastic_ , and I was a fool to not realize that. I did some things that weren’t right and I’m sorry.” Dean looked up at you, his eyes sad and full of regret.

“You can’t change what you did now, Dean,” you said, crossing your arms across your chest.

“I know that,” he replied.

“So then why are you really here? I don’t need an apology.”

“Do you know how hard it’s been for me, knowing that you probably found someone else who you can love? I can’t find someone like that, Y/N. I can’t unlove you. I loved you more than anything. I still do. I love everything about you.” Dean gestured up and down your body with one hand. “Your personality, the way you walk, the way you close your eyes when you listen to your favorite music, the way your hair blows in the wind and you don’t even care, the way…” Dean stammered and then shrugged, at a loss for words. “Everything about you, I  _love_.”

Before you could stop yourself, you were standing close to him. “Dean,” you started. “There’s nobody else in my life. I don’t want to love anyone else. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved, and I love everything about you, too. I love— I love your eyes. I missed your eyes, Dean.” Your words came out in a tiny sob, and Dean gently pulled you to straddle his legs so he could wrap his arms around you in a tight hug.

“I missed you too, Y/N,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head and reaching up to stroke your hair with one hand. “I’m never leaving you again. I promise.”


End file.
